~ Author & Scrivnomancer

Tag Archives: lenore

Dialogue with MerlinI’m hanging out with some friends. One of them, Merlin, leans jokingly, very heavily on my shoulder. Someone says, “What are you doing?”

Merlin: Just checking Josh’s personal space boundaries.

Me: …do that any longer, and I’m going to lick your ear.

Merlin: …

Me: Don’t worry, man, it’s not sexual; I just need the salt.

And my shoulder is released.

Swallowing Quail Like White Rabbits Tumbling Down the Black Hole Gullet of the World Snake

Yesterday, a large shipment of young quail (frozen food for my pet indigo snake, Lenore) came in. Lenore, freshly shed, iridescent, shining, and ravenous, was ready for her meal. That day, for some reason, I had this intense, unexplainable, pregnancy-level craving to listen to “White Rabbit” over and over again…that in conjunction with Lenore’s feeding would have led to one of those strange, inexplicable moments…should someone have walked in—seeing me feeding dead birds to Lenore via 14-inch forceps—music blaring—Lenore, jaws distended, swallowing large prey items—me singing along with Jefferson Airplain:

“FEED YOUR HEAD! FEED YOUR HEAD! FEED YOUR HEAD!!!”

New Word—Lost HangoutsMy good friend, Brayton, and I were drinking coffee at CAFE AEON, discussing the incorrectness of the word “irregardless” (or the incorrectnessless of the word, if you prefer). We decided, if you were going in that direction, to take it a few notches, and prefixes, further—and came up with our new word: “nonundisirregardlessly”. We suggest you start throwing it into conversation, because if you’re going to stray from the language, Chum, go bold!

Speaking of Cafe Aeon, tomorrow night (that is to say…tonight, Friday) is their last day before packing up and heading to New Orleans. I’ll be there, tonight, for the final bash. Anyone in the vicinity should come on out. Promise not to lick your ear.

On a similar note, tonight (Thursday night) I drove to Chicago and to the RED LION PUB for what I thought was their last day before closing for lengthy renovations and rebuilding, only to discover the building dark and locked.

Sigh.

I’m loosing my favorite hangouts.A Kindness of StrangersA group of crows is a murder of crows. A group of ravens is an unkindness of ravens. I’m going to start calling a benevolent group of strangers a kindness of strangers. I like doing this blog—one reason being I occasionally hear from strangers (sometimes from great distances) who comment on the journal. I’m always tickled. Here are a couple of the nicer bits of input I’ve received. This isn’t a self-pat on the back so much as a way of saying thank you to those of you out there in internet land who have given me input…it’s always appreciated.

A message from Erica contained this:

Ok that’s enough. I make promises to myself that when doing a search on here, I will not go beyond 50 miles. This is to keep me from developing relationships with people who live further than I’m willing to drive. However, I’ve been reading your journal and just can’t help myself from commenting on a few things. Today I found new faith in the evolution of the written language, thanks to you. No, there has been no exchange of your published items and my blood, sweat and tears. I think this may change now though.

Recently, I’ve felt my brain slowly rotting from lack of literary beauty. The flow of language that sends shivers down my spine, makes me smile, the thing that connects you with the source… It’s that feeling some get when doing things they’re meant to do, when The Fates strike a cord of perfect harmony. Pleasure, I suppose. Sure, I could pull a book off the shelf and delve once again into worlds I’ve walked before, but I crave new things far too much.

There is, unfortunately, a missing element to many new authors. They have all the ingredients to make a mouth watering dessert but are missing the individual accents that make the whole thing worthwhile. A friend of mine is very in to plants and plant extracts and he uses spagyrics to extract the essential oils for use in various things. The outcome of the extraction is different depending on his mood, yet the flavor is solely his and all the better for it. This is the thing missing. Too much is written to please the general public, which is all well and good, but pointless if there’s no accent to it. No girth, no substance, no sparkly lights. Okay. Maybe I’m over-explaining. This is what makes me happy to say, “Yea! I’m a part of the human race!”:

“I could almost hear the gears turning and saw the light bulb over the head flicker precariously, the wattage far exceeding the fortitude of the filament. He was in the throes of an epiphany. He turned around, came back and delivered it unto me…”

“I wish the White Hen building would sprout giant chicken legs and run away like a Russian fairy tale.”

“I want to drink rum and beer and read ghost stories in a place that speaks and creaks, under the beer garden tree, over a congress of very large, and by now very literary, rats.”

“…this convenience store is like a nasty, self-fulfilling prophecy…one that sells tasty sandwiches and burnt coffee.”

You divest and de-fragment far too well. You remind me of things in my past that I wish I could do over. Yet now there is realization that the love of the language is still there, swirling in the ether.

So thank you for making my mouth water.

Wow. Thank you, Erica. That made my evening. Seeing a few highlight bits from the journal, I thought, “Hey…some of that is pretty good.” It was a mood booster that came at just the right time too.

And this came from Julie:

I know this is quite strange coming from a complete stranger but you are FUCKING BRILLIANT! Sitting here on the eve of my national board examinations trying to prep for one of the biggest accomplishments of my life I took a break from my mind numbing studying to screw around on the computer. Opened up myspace and saw you posted a Blog, I decided what the fuck lets read about somebody else to distract my mind from tearing its self apart from fatigue and doubt… and there I found it… the answer to my problem and the only damn thing that has made me feel better in the last several days. So I say again thank you, you brilliant, eloquent, exceptional person. I am indebted to you.

Thank you—thank you, Julie! Man. Ego boosts to the extreme. Encouragement like that and I find myself able to turn to my inner demons and say, “Leggo my ego, fucker!”

Well you’re in your little roomAnd you’re working on something goodBut if it’s really goodYou’re gonna need a bigger roomAnd when you’re in the bigger roomYou might not know what to doYou might have to think ofHow you got started Sitting in your little room

-The White Stripes, “Little Room”

EGADS!!!

Over a month and no real post.I apologize.If I were the White Rabbit, my watch would have exploded and the Queen of Hearts would have disemboweled me by now . . . or was she a club?A spade?She should be spaded.Hehe . . . veterinary humor.

Working out preliminary concepts and notes and outlines on my novel, with my editor, James Lowder.I think it’ll be interesting…but there’s going to be a lot of work before we finish that final draft.Until then, I’ll have to keep meditating on absinthe and finding new ways to look at cadavers romantically.It’s not easy.I’m trying to get back into all the concepts and characters I’d thought of for the book, trying to remember what I was going for, what needs to be clipped away, what needs to be added—try and remember what it felt like, when the idea was fresh and new in my head in my dorm room, back then . . . and I feel stretch marks in my head . . . but once in a while I find that spark that started it all and then I think I might be on the right trail . . .

I’m Batman!…well…no…I’m actually just getting time and a half…

Nick and I finished up the filming we did as extras in the new Batman movie.It was interesting.We had to sign non-disclosure forms saying we wouldn’t tell anyone about the film . . . but we really don’t have much to tell anyway.One day we were inmates.Another day we were mobsters from the Maroni family

Ruin premiere coming up!

My friend, Matty Jacobson, will premiere his new film, Ruin, on the 21st.Nick is one of the stars in it and I dabbled, just a little bit, with one of the drafts of the script.

Magic . . . or something like it

So I’ve been a working stiff lately, in the mornings, and it’s playing havoc on my nocturnal biorhythms.I teach two classes of magic and sleight of hand to children at an Orthodox Jewish summer camp in the city.These kids have hardcore Hebrew names and my Gentile throat has struggled with flemmy sounds . . . but with their help, I’m starting to get the hang of it.

Lenore

Lenore, my beautiful indigo serpent, turns three years old tomorrow.I’ve raised her from a twelve inch hatchling, to a six foot monster (and she still has some growing to do).I think in about two years she’ll be big enough to turn and devour her master.In that event, I’ll leave some mysterious manuscripts in the skeleton trunk on my bookshelf, to be published posthumously.

Musing on Obsidian Darkly…

I’ve been doing a few late night coffee outings with my good friend, Brayton lately (as he’s moved back into the immediate area).This has led to those wonderfully strange, witching-hour, caffeine driven conversations where our eccentric dialogue eventually leads us to a place where we both agree on writing a story called something like “And Then I Cut Off His Head With A Broken Toilet.”

A little more coffee led to . . .

Brayton:Ah, obsidian.

Josh:Obsidian is the coolest substance ever.

Brayton:Indeed.

Josh:I want all my possessions to be made of obsidian.I want . . . hey!What if the toilet in the story is made of obsidian?

Brayton:[laughs dismissively]Riiiiiiight.Who the hell has an obsidian toilet?

Josh:. . . Michael Clark Duncan?

Brayton:. . . okay.

Slip n’ Slide, puppets, Slip n’ Slide

Still got your calendars out?MARK THIS.It’s time for our next annual SLIP N’ SLIDE party—the revelry will take place on the last Saturday of August, August 25th and will carry on, strong, all the way into Sunday.BE THERE—if you’ve been to one of our slip n’ slide bashes, then you know why.If not…then you need to find out.You are invited (yes, YOU).More details on this later…

Oh she keeps slippin’ away—an REM Persephone

Met this really cool girl . . .

but I can’t remember her name.

I met this really cool girl . . .

but the alarm keeps taking her away.

That’s all for today, lovelings.

Today’s post brought to you be the word posthumously, and the number π.

Sun’s up. I just finished letting Lenore slither through the dew-dot lawn. Some industrious robins went all curious at the wriggling, slithering, blue-black thing in the green grass . . . and I imagine they’d have had a rude awakening had they gone just a little bit closer. If . . . She, Lenore, just turned two recently (pics and measurements coming soon).

I decided not to let banality swallow me down unhinged jaws – not to allow myself that luxury. See, I spent most of grade school and high school feeling sorry for myself and I don’t play that predictably drab, fly-drone violin no more. It’s tempting to whine, but I’d rather jam – shed a few robin feathers in my frenzied wake.

“In these demon days
It’s so cold inside
So hard for a good soul to survive
You can’t even trust the air you breathe
Because mother earth wants us all to leave
When lies become reality
You numb yourself with drugs and TV
Lift yourself up it’s a brand new day
So turn yourself round
Don’t burn yourself, turn yourself
Turn yourself around
Into the sun!
To the sun, to the sun…
To the sun, to the sun…”

As it stands…it’s Monday night and Lenore and I are still in Eureka (and will likely be here untill Tuesday). Hotmail is still being a bitch. So leave any important messages (I especially enjoy compliments and really cheap pick up lines) in the coments section. And if you would like to see Lenore eat one of the campus cats…come on down to the Sig house. If you don’t want Lenore to eat a campus cat…you should probably come down to the Sig house. I will not be eating any cats…